


i'll put my future in you

by bravebuttercups



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Feysand pregnancy, Fluff, feysand baby - Freeform, just some feysand fluff for my bondmate's birthday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 07:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravebuttercups/pseuds/bravebuttercups
Summary: Feyre and Rhys get some unexpected, and wonderful, news.





	i'll put my future in you

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Nana. Love you to the moon and back.

Devlon had frown lines.

While uncommon, it wasn’t impossible for fae to develop wrinkles over time, and Rhys knew all too well the various forms of scars that war could leave. And, if he was being honest with himself, it would be the Illyrian war-lord who would bear the tell-tale lines of someone who looked perpetually displeased. 

Once Rhys noticed the frown lines, it only added to the already difficult task of listening to Devlon debrief him on the new training program for young Illyrians, male and female alike. His was about to send a wave of amusement and an image of Devlon’s face down the bond before he remembered that Feyre wouldn’t be able to receive it.

They were doing important work, the both of them and their entire Inner Circle, but that didn’t stop Rhys from desperately missing his mate. 

He should have been relieved and even proud of how strong and steady Feyre’s shields were as she navigated her way through a meeting with the High Lords of Prythian, how she had come to master her emotions in Tamlin’s presence and refused to bow to anyone, physically and emotionally, but all he could think of was the number of days left until they were reunited. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time they’d been separated for more than a week in the twenty years since Feyre had accepted the bond, and now they were nearing three. The ache shouldn’t have been as strong after all that time, but Rhys was still counting down the days until he could see his mate again. He’d promised her a vacation, once everything was settled at the Illyrian training camp and Feyre managed to finalize her negotiations with the other High Lords, and that vacation couldn’t come soon enough. 

The bond was quiet between them, but its unwavering presence was enough to reassure Rhys - for now. That didn’t stop him from wanting to throw Devlon off of the mountain. 

Rhys’s spine stiffened as he felt a gentle tug on the bond, his eyes narrowing of their own accord before he rearranged his features into a blank but interested expression.  _ Yes, darling? _

There was no reply. 

_ Feyre?  _

Rhys had to remind himself that sometimes they reached for the bond subconsciously; Cauldron knew he’d done it plenty of times, even in sleep. And yet, even when they were fully occupied and their attention was elsewhere, the two of them always acknowledged the other  _ somehow _ . 

_ Feyre _ . 

A sliver of an opening appeared in his mate’s mental shields and Rhys threw himself at it, only able to glean a hint of sharp anxiety before he  _ felt _ Feyre collapse. 

Rhys’s head snapped up, the tension that was no doubt surrounding him catching Cassian’s attention until his commander general casually wandered to his side. Even Devlon seemed to notice, his speech faltering a bit as he took in the sheer panic and fury at war in Rhys’s eyes. 

“I think you should show me the progress everyone is making in the sparring rings now,” Cassian said mildly, though they all knew that he was not merely making a suggestion. 

“Yes,” Devlon agreed slowly, “I think that would be best.” 

Rhys winnowed before Devlon finished his sentence.

-/-

No matter how unpleasant her current company was, there was something about Summer Court that soothed some of the frayed edges of Feyre’s soul. She could credit the effect to Tarquin and the easy friendship they now possessed, but she thought it had to do more with Adriata itself than anything. As soothing as the call of the sea was to her, though, she still wanted to use the nifty trick she’d learned from her mate and rip away Tamlin’s ability to speak.

The word echoed in her mind, over and over again:  _ Whore _ .

Twenty years, one war, and countless negotiations later, Tamlin still got under her skin. But with that time and experience, and no small amount of help from Rhys, Feyre had been able to grow in her confidence until she could respond to Tamlin’s petty jibes with grace and dignity. 

That didn’t mean they didn’t bother her. 

She could tell that they bothered Tarquin, too, despite his best efforts to remain the neutral, pleasant host. Viviane, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

“You would do well to remember that you are speaking to the High Lady of the Night Court,” Viviane said coldly, subtly angling herself so that her shoulder brushed Feyre’s. Not for the first time, Feyre was glad that it had been Viviane, and not Kallias, who had come to this meeting.

Whatever animosity he felt towards Feyre, Tamlin knew when he was outnumbered, and settled into a sulky silence. Tarquin cleared his throat and went back to discussing his plan on tracking down the last of the mortal queens turned fae, effectively drawing all attention away from Feyre. And it was a good thing, too, because she was starting to feel a bit lightheaded. 

It was no wonder, really; her rage at Tamlin’s words had caused her skin to prickle, her power threatening to surge out of her at any moment, and it had taken no small amount of restraint to hold herself back. Even now, Feyre felt the draw of her power manifest as a light pull in her stomach.

One moment, she was sitting in her chair, and the next, she was slumped on the ground, Tarquin and Viviane kneeling over her as she struggled to regain consciousness. 

“Feyre? Are you alright?” Tarquin asked, eyebrows creased in concern. “I’ve already sent for a healer, but perhaps you should return home.”

“I think that might be best,” Feyre said, wincing as she sat up. Cauldron only knew what Rhys would do if he stormed into Summer Court now. 

“Are you alright to winnow?”

_ Feyre, darling, what happened? Are you alright? _

“I’ll manage,” Feyre reassured both Tarquin and Viviane. To Rhys, she said,  _ Just feeling a bit lightheaded is all. I’m returning to Velaris now. _

_ I’ll send Madja to check on you at the townhouse _ . Feyre hid her frown and started to protest, right as Rhys continued,  _ And no buts.  _

Feyre rolled her eyes and bade the remaining High Lords and Lady farewell, apologizing for her unexpected early departure and the inconvenience of having to meet again at a later date. Tamlin snorted at her apology, but rather than address him, Feyre disappeared into smoke and shadows. 

-/-

Rhys was waiting for her when she got home, and was so busy pacing across the living room that he almost didn’t notice her arrival. Feyre’s smile was the one she reserved for her mate, and only her mate - her friend, her equal, who respected her enough to step back and let her do things by herself, but was always there to catch her if she fell. 

“You’ll wear a hole into the carpet,” she commented, leaning against the doorframe. A frustrated noise escaped Rhys as his eyes caught sight of her, and he was in front of her before she could blink. 

“What happened?” Feyre could hear the strain in Rhys’s voice as he tried to mask his worry, and reached up to cup his face in her hands. He covered her hands with his own and took a deep breath, shifting so that their foreheads touched. 

“It was probably my exhaustion catching up with me. I’m sure Madja will have something to help,” Feyre said, then added, quietly, “I don’t like sleeping without you.”

The corners of Rhys’s mouth tugged up at that, but it was a testament to his concern when he failed to answer with an innuendo. “I assure you, the feeling is very mutual. Now off you go, Madja’s waiting upstairs.”

Feyre stood on her toes to kiss Rhys once, his hands sliding down to the small of her back and holding her there for a lingering moment before he turned her around and gently pushed her towards the stairs. 

_ I’ll be here when you’re done _ .

_ Promise _ ? Feyre smiled over her shoulder at her mate, his mere presence doing more to soothe her own anxieties than any reassurances she could have thought up herself. 

_ Always _ .

-/-

Feyre stared at Madja in shock; if she hadn’t already been sitting on the bed she shared with Rhys, she would have fallen to her knees. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe or trust the healer, but she was having trouble comprehending what, exactly, had caused her to faint. 

This hadn’t been planned. She hadn’t discussed it with Rhys; they hadn’t broached the topic for a few years now, with their entire inner circle spread out around Prythian and the continent, tying up loose ends and ensuring that the peace persisted. But as unexpected as the news was, Feyre couldn’t suppress her joy. 

Rhys was going to be a wonderful father. 

Feyre kept her shields carefully intact as Madja told her how far along she was and other instructions to ensure that she and the baby remained healthy. She wanted to see Rhys’s face when she told him that she was pregnant. 

Madja left her with a wide smile. “Congratulations, to you and the High Lord both.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, beaming. 

As soon as Madja was gone, Rhys took her place, kneeling in front of Feyre. Feyre bit her lip to keep her grin from showing, her fingers sliding into Rhys’s hair as he stared at her, completely and utterly bemused. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be overjoyed, even if the pregnancy hadn’t been planned.

“We’ve been rather busy lately, haven’t we?” Feyre mused. 

Rhys’s eyes narrowed as he caught on to Feyre’s game. “That we have,” he drawled. 

“So busy that I can barely remember my own name when I finally drag myself to bed.”

“I think we’ve earned a long vacation,” Rhys agreed. He moved closer, nuzzling against her stomach, and for a moment, Feyre wondered if he could somehow  _ smell _ that she was pregnant. 

“We’ve been so busy, in fact, that I can’t remember what happened the last time I saw you. Do you think you can jog my memory?”

Feyre felt Rhys’s lazy smile against her skin, the thin material of her sweater doing little to separate them. “If I’m not mistaken, there was a wall involved. Several times, in fact.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Feyre said, as if recollecting the memory for the first time. “I’m pretty sure you exhausted me so thoroughly that I couldn’t bring myself to leave the bed the next morning.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“ _ Definitely _ not a bad thing. Although, our reunion was so unexpected and sudden that I don’t think I took the tonic before or after,” Feyre continued. “I think I forgot about it entirely.”

Rhys stilled, and when he looked up and saw Feyre’s playful grin, he said, slowly, “And you forgetting is...good?”

“It’s  _ great _ .”

“Feyre, are you - are we - are you pregnant?”

Feyre nodded, laughing as Rhys scooped her up into his arms with a whoop of glee. She twined her arms around his neck as he twirled her around their room, peppering kisses into her hair when he finally set her down again. 

“I love you,” Rhys breathed, a gentle hand against Feyre’s stomach as he processed the news. 

“I love you, too.”

Rhys grinned and kissed Feyre. “I was actually talking to our baby, but it’s good to know that my mate and the mother of my child loves me.”

“ _ Prick _ ,” Feyre scolded, but she was smiling as she said it. She wondered if she would ever be able to stop smiling. 

(It turned out that she wouldn’t, not really, and when Larissa was born eight months and ten days later, both Rhys and Feyre were beaming at each other through their tears.)  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
